Amnesiacs Anonymous: The Demon Inside
by Andrew A. Anderson
Summary: The world wanted him dead, but now Lelouch vi Britannia is their only hope against the growing power of the Dark Phoenixes. With his memories destroyed, how will he cope when he learns his quest to create a new Britannia has cost hundreds of thousands of lives? Will the memories that fueled his mission surface, or will he live forever in guilt? Sequel to Phoenix Rising.


**A/N:** Welcome to my newest story, Amnesiacs Anonymous: Rewrite! I shall endeavor to improve upon the first story I have ever written by re-doing my writing style (or lack thereof) from my earlier days of writing (seriously it's only been like 7 months, but I changed my style a lot if you can tell). A little clarification: this story is the sequel to Phoenix Rising, so it will have all the plot elements such as the Dark Phoenixes, Lelouch's resurrection, and last but definitely not least, his growing relationship with C.C. Because I ship them, of course. Anyway, there are several plot elements from the original AA1 that I am doing away with, such as how the _deus ex machina_ known as "god" restored their memories with a simple command. I mean, come on, no extensive discovery to find their identities? Lame. Sorry if I let any of you mystery lovers down in the original, but I am here to fix that! I am also re-doing the semi-overcheesy death/resurrection scene at the end of AA1, because looking back on it, I _really_ overdid that. I might also redo their hospital escape sequence from the beginning, because it made no sense how they could just sneak out the morgue as two dead corpses without anyone noticing anything. Also, Lelouch will "die" less. I think I was trying to push the whole "I will sacrifice myself for everything" agenda too much.

In short, I'm just gonna keep the Dark Phoenixes and throw out the rest. Prepare to get your mind thrown around a lot more than you did in the original. Happy reading!

* * *

**Chapter 1 - The Amnesiac's Curse**

* * *

Two gunshots pierced the tranquil night air, and the next thing he knew, he was falling. His body would not stop falling. He watched as the bright sun that loomed overhead grew ever so slightly smaller, an optical illusion created by the decreasing angles the light traveled from the edges of the sun to his eyes. The sun seemed to stare back at him, as to question why he was still falling. His vision swirled for a moment and the sun was suddenly a deep blood-red, laughing at his predicament as he continued his unfettered path toward the icy waters below. They swirled and foamed, eager to swallow up anyone foolish enough to take a swim this late in the night. The sky turned a harsh shade of purple, then neon orange. Or was it green? He couldn't tell. All he was certain of was that he was falling, though he could not remember why.

Shock bathed his senses as he broke the surface of the dark waters that immediately split to accommodate him. By pure instinct he acted, forcing his arms to push him to the surface of the water. It stung his eyes when he tried to keep them open, but he willed himself to at least squint through the freezing water. He brought his arm back for a long stroke, but a sharp pain in his back made him halt his movements. The waves rocked him back and forth like a random piece of flotsam. The cold that ate away at his joints made his movements as slow as molasses. He thought he was moving forward, but another wave that crashed over the top of his head sent him floating backwards.

As his arms dragged through the water, something solid brushed against his hand, a relief from the unsubstantial fluidity of the water. Though he couldn't tell what it was, he grabbed onto it and held fast. The shifting currents forced his head underwater, and he surfaced several moments later, choking and spitting out water. His long hair clung to his eyes and forehead, making his vision even more blurry than he cared to deal with. He tried to hoist himself up on top of the object he had latched onto, but realized he was sinking with the object. Curious of what he had selected, he opened his eyes barely enough to make out the general outline of the object. What he saw was no object.

It was a person.

A dead person, to be exact. A cold lifeless corpse that had been floating in the waters next to him. He recoiled his arm in horror and tried to swim away from the body. But whoever it was, long tendrils of green hair were wrapped around his arm, probably from when he had been trying to grab onto what he thought might have been a log, and he found himself pulling the body behind him. Even more horrified, he swam away faster, but another wave crashed down upon him and he found himself drowning again.

He was completely submerged now. He found he could open his eyes without the icy waters stinging them. His body was numb, though vaguely aware of the cold that encompassed him. At the bottom of the waters appeared a light. It was a faint greenish-blue, and it seemed to flicker and change colors depending on the angle he looked at it. In an unexpected burst of light, he caught a glimpse of a shadow at the bottom. It was the shadow of a person he saw. The shadow was moving closer to him, and the light was getting brighter. At this point, he couldn't tell if he was dreaming or he was actually losing his mind. The light grew to fill his entire field of vision and the shadow of the figure grew even closer. He could now see that the figure was a girl, though he could not see her face. She stretched one arm out toward him, as if beckoning him to follow her. He somehow felt compelled to extend his own arm in return, both of them now reaching for each other over an intangible abyss of darkness and uncertainty.

"Remember me..." was the dreamy voice that called out to him, most presumably from the girl. He didn't know what to think or how to respond, and she repeated herself several times more, growing softer with each gradation. He squinted even harder in an attempt to recognize the face, though he could still only see a shadow.

"Who are you?" he tried to call out, but all he heard from himself was bubbles of air ascending toward the surface of the water. In a sudden flash she disappeared, leaving him to extend his arm toward nothingness once more. The dark waters returned to him as the strange blue lights left him. He was back in the ocean, though whether or not he truly left was uncertain. His shoulders bumped up against land, and he willed his remaining strength to carry him to shore, wherever shore was. He crawled up the banks until he felt the waves stop washing over him. Utterly exhausted, he collapsed into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

_All the hatred of the world is now focused on me..._

_If the king does not lead, how can he..._

_...that's our signal! All units..._

_Do you know why snow is white?_

_...called the Zero Requiem._

_So there are others like this one?_

_You're despicable...!_

_I, Lelouch vi Britannia, command you..._

_...can't ask him to be Zero again. Not this time._

_...false smiles bring pain to one's self._

_Live!_

The boy's eyes shot open and found a lamp hovering above his face. He was lying down on a bed with a blanket draped over him. His right arm crossed his chest, while his left arm lay limp at his side. A strange numbness surrounded his forearm and he realized he was connected to an IV. He tried sitting up but someone's hand gently held him down.

"Lie still. You've been unconscious for about a week now." The voice came from his right, but as he tried to turn on his side, the same hand held him still.

"Relax."

His mouth opened in an attempt to speak and he found his voice abnormally hoarse. "A week?"

"From the time we found you on the beach until now, yes, a week. You washed up on shore lying next to a girl. Do you know her?"

"Beach? What beach...? And no, I don't know who..." His head began to pound from this sudden onslaught of movement after not having moved for, according to the doctors, a week.

"Don't over-exert yourself. You've been out cold and your body isn't used to using all of your senses. Here, I'm going to give you a little bit of painkillers to take the edge off, alright?"

"Where am I?"

"One of the finest hospitals in the world, Busan Medical Center."

"Busan? I'm in the United States of China?"

"Yes, sir. Where are you from?" The doctor began to take a syringe and draw medicine from a bottle. He inserted it into the IV drip and depressed the syringe, emptying its contents.

"I don't know."

"Don't worry, you're most likely confused from that concussion you received. What's your name?"

"I don't know that either."

The doctor paused, looking curiously at his patient. In a few moments he would resume his work without giving much thought to this odd situation, but for now, he would try and figure out just what exactly was happening. Two bodies washed up on shore and neither one remembered where they were from or how they got there to begin with. What's more was that neither could remember their names. The nameless boy didn't know this yet, but the doctor had already asked the girl the same questions and he was giving similar responses.

"You don't know? That's quite strange."

The doctor studied the boy's face intensely and drew back when he finished his analysis. He bore a striking resemblance to Lelouch vi Britannia, who was supposedly dead. Rumors had ways of spreading throughout the world however, and the latest word around the world was that Lelouch had returned. Authorities were unable to turn up his body, though several attempts were made to fool the public into silence by means of several life-size wax dummies. The plan would have worked, had it not been for the loudmouthing sculptor who bragged about his latest undertakings which included being secretly commissioned by the Britannian government.

If the dead Emperor was in fact alive, it would mean that he was in league with the Black Knights, or at least Zero, and his entire death was staged. And for what? The press would never hear the end of it. But this patient lying down stretched out on a hospital cot was no wax dummy. He was a living breathing human being who had no clue who he was or where he came from. Still, he felt it necessary to ask.

"Are you sure?"

The doctor's question was more like an accusatory statement, and the boy tilted his head with curiosity.

"I wish I was lying. I have no idea who I am. My life is empty."

There was a distant look in the boy's eyes, and the doctor immediately dropped his accusations. Perhaps this boy was simply a look-a-like from one of those talent shows, or perhaps the Demon Emperor was his inspiration and he had his facial features surgically altered. It wasn't uncommon for society's youth to change their appearance to look like their idols.

"Can I have some water?" the boy asked. He sounded tired.

"I don't see why not. Let me take a quick diagnosis just to make sure."

By the time the doctor had finished his diagnosis, the boy had fallen fast asleep. He left a glass of water at his bedside table and left the room. He closed the door behind him.

* * *

He was sweating profusely. His entire shirt was soaked until it turned a darker shade of gray. He kept pushing himself to run quicker for fear of what lay behind him. His body ached, but he could not stop running now. He dared to glance behind him, but the man was still there, still watching. His legs pumped up and down in a desperate attempt to move him faster. His back ached, but he kept his pace, swinging his arms back and forth. Suddenly his foot slipped, and he fell. He landed on the ground with a loud shout, and the man behind him stepped closer.

"You know, at this rate, you're going to break all of the treadmills in the rehab center."

"I wouldn't break them if you didn't force me on them in the first place."

"We have to accelerate your heart rate to do these tests. Now get up..."

The man grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. He walked over to the treadmill and turned it off. The machine whirred to a halt.

"In the history of teenagers with too little exercise, you have to be the worst."

"I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you." The boy retorted.

"Davis, finish up your tests. I need the boy for a moment." A doctor appeared in the doorway of the entrance of the rehabilitation center.

The trainer looked at the doctor and back to the boy, then nodded.

* * *

"What is this?"

The boy held the object up to the light. It was a small plastic bag with a transparent red tag on the top that sealed it shut. There was some small text printed on the tag and he read it aloud.

"Forensics evidence...nine-millimeter round-"

"So you can read that?" The doctor interrupted. He looked surprised. "You read that without an accent. I'm guessing you're not from around here."

"I wouldn't know."

The doctor sighed. "What do you think is in the bag? Do you know what that is?"

"I don't know how I can read, but I assure you, I can read. The label says it's a nine-millimeter round."

"What can you tell me about it?"

The boy took a closer look at the bullet and noted several observations in his head. "It looks crumpled, as if it hit something hard." he reported.

"Something as hard as bone, perhaps." The doctor added. The boy looked up at him with curiosity.

"Where did you find this?"

"In your left shoulder blade."

There was a pause as the doctor's words sank in.

"My shoulder blade? What are you saying, that I was shot at?" The boy's voice grew slightly louder.

"Look, I don't know what happened to you before you washed up on shore, but it's possible that your shooting was only an accident. Maybe it was a mugging gone wrong."

"What if it's not? If someone shot me with the intent to kill and found out I'm still alive, they might try to kill me again!" His outburst earned the glances of an intern who was passing by the hospital room. The doctor put a finger to his lips to motion him to quiet down.

"If someone is out there—"

"There is no one out there."

"What?" The boy looked confused.

"I'm sorry I had to put you through this, but this was just a psychological test. You weren't shot, and I got this bullet from a target range. Now hold still while I take a blood sample."

The doctor took an alcohol swab and wiped a part of his arm to disinfect the area. The boy winced as the needle entered his arm. He spoke again in an attempt to distract himself from the pain. "You lied?" The boy didn't look convinced.

"I was trying to jog your memory," the doctor explained. He finished taking the sample and turned around to label the sample for transport.

"But if I wasn't shot, why would showing me a bullet jog my memory?" He asked suspiciously.

The doctor paused in his work but didn't answer. He returned his attention to the blood sample and finished packing it away.

"I'm going to process this sample for testing. I'll let you know the results of the tests in three days."

The doctor pulled off his disposable gloves and dropped them into a trash bin as he left the room. He stopped outside the doorway and looked back at his patient. He shook his head and muttered something to himself as he continued down the hallway.

* * *

A small vial of blood was inserted into a complicated looking machine. The blood drained onto several microscope slides for testing. The machine buzzed and beeped as it processed the information from the blood.

A small screen next to the device began mapping out the genetic sequence of the blood sample. As more and more pieces were added to the sequence, the progress bar grew more and more quickly. Finally, the screen flashed complete and displayed a portrait with the corresponding genetic code for the profile. The portrait was that of a young Britannian prince who had ascended to the status of Emperor before he had even finished high school. The undying pair of violet eyes struck the doctor, and he now knew exactly who he was dealing with.

The computer beeped and its speakers read out:

_DNA Sequencing complete. One hundred percent match to Lelouch vi Britannia._

The two DNA samples were a perfect match.


End file.
